By F. Paul Wilson
Aftershock & Others is the 3rd selection of brief fiction by long island Times bestselling writer F. Paul Wilson, hailed via the Rocky Mountain News as “among the best storytellers of our times.”
The identify novelette received the Bram Stoker Award and its partners contact at the prior, current, and future—from the inflationary madness of Weimar Germany (“Aryans and Absinthe”) to disco club–era ny (“When He was once Fab”), to the rationing of scientific companies in a grim close to destiny (“Offshore”). Wilson’s stylistic variety and flexibility are on reveal in tales that pay tribute to Ray Bradbury (“The November Game”), use a sentient killer virus as a point-of-view personality (“Lysing towards Bethlehem”), and pay unabashed homage to natural pulp fiction in yellow peril tales (“Sex Slaves of the Dragon Tong” and “Part of the Game”). and at last, Wilson treats us to his well known antihero Repairman Jack at his such a lot artistic: trapped in a drugstore with 4 killers (“Interlude at Duane’s”).
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Additional resources for Aftershock & Others: 19 Oddities
At least the diet’s working. Amazing what starvation will do to you. I’ve been getting thinner every day. My fat’s long gone, my muscles have withered and atrophied. I think I’m now small enough to slip through that opening. Only one way to find out. I go to the loose tile and fit my fingers around its edges. I pried it up with the spoon earlier and left it canted in its space. It comes up easily now. The putrid odor is worse than ever. I look down into the opening. It’s dark in my cell but even darker in that hole.
Once I must have had a life like that. But the warmth warps into rage if I watch too long, because I know such a scene will never be mine again. I know it’s only a dream. But the rage is so real. As I pass the rear of a tavern, the side door opens and two men step out. I stumble farther back into the shadows, wanting to run but knowing I’d make a terrible racket. No one must see me. No one must know I’m alive. So I stay perfectly still, waiting for them to leave. That’s when I hear the voice. The deep, delicious voice of a handsome young man with curly blond hair and fresh clear skin.
As I pass the rear of a tavern, the side door opens and two men step out. I stumble farther back into the shadows, wanting to run but knowing I’d make a terrible racket. No one must see me. No one must know I’m alive. So I stay perfectly still, waiting for them to leave. That’s when I hear the voice. The deep, delicious voice of a handsome young man with curly blond hair and fresh clear skin. I know this without seeing him. I even know his name. Karl. I lean to my right and peer down the alley.